It’s hard for me to love other people. It’s even harder for me to love myself.
I was driving home from work Monday evening and I had just angrily hung up the phone. A woman had called me from a company that did some work at my house a few years ago. I didn’t like the way the company was handling its business with me, but it was nothing personal with the woman.
The thing that annoyed me wasn’t her fault. She was just reading a script. She was doing her job. But I was in a bad mood — and I took out my frustrations on her.
I wasn’t nasty or rude, but I certainly wasn’t kind or loving.
As I drove the rest of the way down I-459 toward home, I stewed in my irritation, but my annoyance quickly turned toward myself. I wasn’t upset with that woman or her company.
I lectured myself about being a hypocrite. I berated myself about my unwillingness to live up to my values when it wasn’t convenient — when I wasn’t in the right mood.

What makes someone want you enough to make you a priority?
Was I ‘fat’? ‘Lazy’? My father’s ugly words made me feel shame
We live in Reverse World, where black is white and good is evil
Is it abuse to force atypical kids to conform to norms of society?
Calm and perspective needed for Boston, not accusations and games
What if a key to knowing what to do is built into everybody’s gut?
FRIDAY FUNNIES
I don’t really hate you, honest; I’m just afraid you may hurt me
Beauty and love are all around us if our eyes and hearts are open to them